Devils Flesh & Bone
by BloodMoonNights
Summary: I wasn't surprised when I heard on the news that a new disease, spread through saliva entering the system via a bite, was causing people to resort to cannibalism. This is South Park; weird crap happens all the time. But...maybe the zombie apocalypse isn't the best time to declare your love for your twitchy, blonde best friend. Creek.
1. Chapter 1

_Character Profile #1_: Craig Tucker

_Age:_ 18

_Weapon of Choice:_ lead pipe and scalpel

_Soundtrack choices:_

-Give It All by Rise Against

-Revenga by System of a Down

-Don't Stop by Innerpartysystem

––—∞—––

_Chapter Track(s):_ If It Means a Lot To You by A Day To Remember

Devil's Flesh and Bone by Eliza Rickman

––—∞—––

"The fat fuck wants to call a truce. I'm calling bullshit," Red snarls as she tosses her bloodied baseball bat on the table. She sighs heavily, running a hand through her short hair and stares at those of us seated at the table. There's Clyde Donovan, Token Black, Kevin Stoley (though I have no idea why), and Bebe Stevens. "I almost told him to eat my dick," she says, taking a seat by Token who slides his hand into hers. They share a warm smile, before I break up this tender moment with a cough.

"He's not serious, is he?" Clyde asks, cocking his head.

"There's no way we are agreeing to anything he says. He's a deceitful piece of shit," Bebe puts in, tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder and picking at her nails. How she can keep them so absolutely perfect in the face of the zombie apocalypse I'll never know. They're pink today, with the tips coated in white. Bebe is beautiful, even in the face of something terrible: her makeup is on point, and her hair is still soft looking even though we ran out of shampoo a day ago, and her outfit is girly but, as she tells me, fully functional to kick ass. She catches me staring and sticks out her tongue. I flip her off.

Token leans back and stares at me, "What do you think, Craig?"

"Never trust that pig. Remember what happened to the animals in 'Animal Farm' that did? They got screwed over," I say easily, checking my phone. You'd be surprised at how good service still is, what with the world ending and all. I have a text from my sister, Beatrice, asking me to save her. Not literally, just metaphorically, from our father. My dad had a bunker built under the house for something like this; my family, Token's, and Clyde's are all comfortably set for what could basically be the rest of their life. Sometimes having a redneck for a dad can be helpful. I send a snippy text back, and shit the cellphone.

It started about two weeks ago. I wasn't surprised when I heard on the news that a new disease, spread through saliva entering the system via a bite, was causing people to resort to cannibalism. Token had called me right after the story came out, wondering what it could be. "Zombies, dude. It has to be," I said, almost in shock. It got worse, and when it got to Denver our small mountain town took notice. The lockdown happened all of a sudden, while most of my class was in school.

Zombies. Slow, bloody, walking dead zombies. Some students attempted to run home, but they didn't make it far. Parents drove through the hoards to pick their children up, but those of us in the senior class stayed put. We barricaded ourselves in the buildings, using makeshift weapons to clear the place out. Our families had themselves covered, they told us to be safe and not venture out if it seemed dangerous.

But, when _didn't_ it seem dangerous these days?

So, most of us stayed in the school. There was food, power was still on, and we managed pretty well for the first few days. And then we splintered. Cartman wanted to cut down some of the mouths by giving them to the zombies. "We have to preserve those of us who deserve to live," was his reasoning, not knowing he was obviously a fat fucking fuck. That's when a bunch of us splintered; Cartman, Butters, Millie, Esther, and even Kenny stayed with Cartman who used their fear to his advantage.

Myself, Clyde, Token, Tweek, Red, and Bebe teamed up, determined to all survive this thing. No casualties if we could help it.

Stan Marsh, Kyle Broflovski, and Wendy Testaburger remained neutral on the matter. They only wanted to survive, and they refused to pick sides. It was probably a smart move in the long run, but it still didn't sit right with me.

From that moment on, the school became a warzone. Not only were there walking dead to contend with, now we were having a turf war with Cartman's group, and fighting for the limited resources we had on hand. No one had been hurt too badly, but Clyde had been hit with a taser last week when he and I were on a water run. By the time he'd recovered, we had no time to waste getting revenge; the dead were upon us.

Our high-school consists of different buildings, almost in a circle, with walkways in between. Certain buildings have certain functions, and so on, with the cafeteria, library, and freshman building right in the center. Red convinced us to occupy the science, math, and English buildings (all which are connected to each other without the need to go outside), while Cartman occupied the field house, which holds a gym, locker rooms, and all that go with it. Stan and his crew don't stay in one place for too long, but lately they've taken shelter in the library.

So, here we were: on the brink of making a peace treaty with Hitler's reincarnation. It wasn't going to happen; not if I had anything to do with it. I said as much to everyone in the room. They nodded, humming in agreement. "What should we do instead?" Kevin asked, leaning on the table with his chin in his hands. I glared at him, and he took them off immediately looking ashamed. Clyde elbows him softly and laughs at him.

"I don't think retaliation is the best course of action," Token says.

"I say we throw Molotov cocktails into the gym," Red pipes in, kicking her boots on the table, and leaning back with ease. Red's kind of crazy, but she's important to Token and that's fine enough for me. She's half Filipino, and she's got that awesome exotic look to her that men go gaga for. Before this whole ordeal she'd shaved half her cherry red hair off, which makes her look like a freak. But, she's smart. Like…really smart; she's head of the science club and wants to be a pathologist. She's got a mouth like a sailor, and sometimes she pisses me off but she's basically a genius and we need her.

When we had first taken shelter hear she had gathered any material she could think of to make weapons with. This resulted in breaking into the chemistry lab to make Molotov cocktails with various chemicals, beakers, and lab aprons. She also fashioned a bow and arrow thing which shoots out scalpels. She's kind of badass.

Bebe frowns at her friend, "We don't need to hurt anyone."

"Where's Tweek?" I ask, looking around the room for him.

"Your boyfriend is making himself coffee in the other room. He had a close call earlier, I think he's spooked," Red answered. I glare at her, but can't hide the blush I feel crawling on my face. Clyde snickers in the corner, and I throw a pencil at him. He squeals, like a pig, and falls out of his chair.

"I'm going to check on him," I say, standing up.

"He's a big boy. He can take care of himself," Clyde says, popping his head over the edge of the table and eyeing me warily. I almost throw something else at him, but I think otherwise.

Two rooms over is our makeshift cafeteria. It has a fridge, where specimens were once kept, but now holds our stock of frozen and cold foods. There's also a coffee maker we filched from the principal's office, as well as a microwave. We use a Bunsen burner as a stove. That's where I find Tweek, sitting near an open window, smoking his cigarettes and warming his hands on a mug of coffee. I don't say anything at first, I simply admire him.

I've had a crush on Tweek for about a year now; he moved back from Denver and I immediately fell for him and all his quirks. It was interesting to me, I couldn't stay away. He was tall, way taller than me (6'2'' compared to 5'8''), with shocks of lemon blonde hair that shot in all directions as though he were hit by electricity. His eyes, though turned away from me, I knew were dark, dark brown and ringed in purple bruises from his lack of sleep. He was rail thin, his fingers long and spindly, stained with tobacco and covered in tattered skin he chewed off as a nervous habit.

He smelt like marshmallows, smoke, and coffee (of course). He twitched, shook, and let out small noises every once in a while which I was totally enamored with. He didn't eat meat, and could say the alphabet backwards, and could tie a cherry stem in a knot with his tongue. I'd dreamed about that last one for weeks now, and even thinking about it made me hot all over.

A sigh brought me back to reality, where Tweek had lit up yet another cigarette and was staring down the buildings side. I shut the classroom's door as quietly as I could, but he still heard it. Slowly, he turned his head, and with wide owl eyes he locked onto me. When he saw who it was his shoulders slumped, and he gave a toothless grin in my direction. "Hey," he said, voice soft and whispery.

"Hey," I replied back and matched his smile. "Red told me you'd be here."

He nodded, and turned back around, slumping back over his steaming mug of coffee. I walk over and pull up a chair next to him. He's staring at the zombies that litter campus. They're stumbling around, and groaning, and occasionally I hear the snapping of bones. I wince, but Tweek doesn't move at all.

"I heard something happened," I say, stealing the cigarette from in between his fingers and putting it between my lips. The blonde glowers at me, runs a hand through his hair, and eventually nods. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," he responds curtly, his voice telling me he is through with this conversation, but I'm not.

"You can talk to me, y'know. I'm not going to make fun of you."

"Well, thanks so much," he replies sarcastically, dumping his coffee out the window and onto an unsuspecting undead. The creature groans, and slowly turns to find out where the attack came from. Tweek then violently throws his coffee mug at it, busting its head open with expert precision. It collapses on the ground, unmoving.

I'm too busy admiring his aim to notice he has started to storm away. I catch him before he can open the door and leave. "Don't be a douche, Tweek. I'm just trying to help."

"I don't _need_ your help," he snarls out, and that's when I notice it. His shirt is torn down the front in violent slashes, and there's claw marks from his jaw to his neck. They've scabbed over, dried blood stains his skin, and I find myself reaching out. He flinches and pulls back, I do the same. "I'm fine," he says, as if that makes it all okay.

"Did it bite you?"

"No."

"Tweek…"

"No, he didn't bite me!" he practically screams, and I cover his mouth with my hand so the hoards outside don't hear. He's slammed up against a wall, staring down at me in shock. Slowly, I pull my hand away, and grab his thin hand within my own. His eyes won't meet mine, but he's shaking and his throat is clenched as though he's trying not to cry. I squeeze his hand, and he responds by sinking to the ground, knees curled up into his chest but hand still holding tightly onto mine. I sit down next to him, and he lays his head on my shoulder.

"It was Thomas," he whispers, and I almost don't hear him because of how loud my heart is beating in my ears.

"What?"

"T-Thomas was the zombie. I saw him as we came back, and I couldn't leave him. We were…he was…" he trails off, shuts his eyes as tears begin to leak out. I breathe deeply. Thomas was Tweek's boyfriend ever since he came back. I'd never seen either boy so still, and happy than they were with one another. It sickened me, but what could I say?

Love me?

Be with me?

When I couldn't connect with him the way Thomas could.

Tweek's sniffling gets louder as he tries to hold it back. "I… I wanted to s-save him. I'm so stupid!" he shrieks, and pulls away from me, rising to his feet quickly. He pulls at his hair, and kicks a stool over, clattering it to the linoleum with a loud crash. I let him rage for a minute before he collapses again, his voice raw and shaky with unshed tears.

"Tweek," I start, crawling over to him, "Tweek, it's okay to cry. It doesn't make you weak." He looks up at me quickly, with the intensity of a trapped animal. I make my way to him slowly, and when I'm close enough he grabs my shirt and pulls me in, to wrap his arms around my waist and sob into my shirt.

And I let him.

He calms down a little while later, and pulls away from me with puffy eyes. He's still so cute, it makes my heart go haywire. He wipes away his tears, and gives me a small, soft smile. I suppose the zombie apocalypse isn't the best time to announce your love to your friend, especially when he's Tweek Tweak.

"Let's get you some more coffee," I say instead of the words running through my mind. He nods, cheering up at the thought of deliciousness.

"You're a great friend, Craig." he says, eyes crinkling as he grins at me. My heart pounds, my throat goes dry but I smile back because it's Tweek, and I'll do anything to make him happy.

––—∞—––

He is so good at this that it actually shocks me. Tweek is armed with a metal baseball bat, and only that. He swings it right at a zombie, busting it's head open. Blood and brains splatter onto his clothes, and goggles. The body drops with a loud thump and, for good measure, Tweek kicks it's unmoving corpse. He lets out a breath, turns to me and screams, "W-watch out!"

I turn in time to jam my scalpel into the zombies forehead as it opens it's jaw. I wince when warm blood hits me, but mostly I ignore it. I pull out the scalpel with a wet pop, and let the body fall. Tweek has returned to being a tour de force: he is fighting three at once, looking fearless and hot and goddamn! I'm lost again as he kicks his long legs out and kicks a zombie in the chest, while he brings the bat down upon another as it goes to stand up.

An explosion stops both of us. Red is hanging out of Token's Jeep, red hair flying as it skids to a stop. "Eat shit, fuckers!" She screams, and tosses a Molotov at a hoard. It's a good throw; I'm impressed. Pat Benatar's "Heartbreaker" wails from Token's car, and I can see him laughing at everything Red says when she ducks back in to grab another beaker to throw.

"Dude, g-glad she's on our side," Tweek comments, suddenly right next to me. I jump a little, and he smirks with his eyes still on Red. It's then that I see Bebe and Clyde bolt from the abandoned Johnson's grocery store with bags of supplies. In a flash, probably smelling fresh food, the undead start ambling towards them at their menial pace.

Bebe is in the archery club at school, and when a zombie tries to lunge at her and Clyde, she quickly and efficiently pulls out her bow, and puts an arrow in it's head. As it falls she pulls it out and continues to run. Clyde, the fatass, is a lot slower and seems to be carrying more.

"Signal Token, it's time to head back for today," I order Tweek, grabbing onto his hand and giving it a squeeze. I watch his eyes widen, and a slight blush spread before I dart towards my friend. My other weapon of choice, aside from the scalpels, is a lead pipe we took from one of the unused bath rooms. It makes me feel like I'm in fucking Silent Hill or some shit. Seriously cool. Bebe passes me quickly, slapping my ass as she does so and laughing.

I stumble a little, but regain my composure soon enough. When I reach Clyde he is beating a zombie over the head with his backpack of snacks. "Clyde, go!" I yell as I smash the pipe down onto the enemy.

"Dude!" Clyde screams, grabbing my shirts collar and dragging me. That's when I hear gun shots from inside the building; shotgun rounds fire off quickly and it scares me so badly that I drop my pipe. "Cartman was in there. Bebe shot him with an arrow in the leg when he tried to grab her. Holy shit, dude, he's fucking pissed. We gotta go!" He screams, voice cracking. Terror fills his eyes and he pleads for us to get far, far away.

Luckily that's when Token pulls up next to us and the two of us scramble inside as fast as humanly possible. I collapse next to Tweek who asks me if I'm okay. I'm too busy looking back to where Millie and Esther are carrying Cartman out of the grocery store. Butters is keeping the zombies back as they toss him into their car, start the engine and drive off in the opposite direction (no doubt taking the back way to their base in the field house). We are back on the road in no time, all of us deadly quiet and on alert.

Cartman and his group had raided Jimbo's gun shop, and they were more lethally armed than us. We had managed to find a few long distance weapons, but nowhere near the amount they had. It was...terrifying, to say the least.

"Hey," Tweek asked, nudging me and bringing me back to right now. "You okay?" His hand was on the seat next to mine, inching closer until his fingertips brushed against the top of my hand. I wanted to hold his hand, just something for comfort but I kept my face stoic and I made myself stay.

"Fine," I replied, and that was the end of that.

––—∞—––

"He's going to be out for blood now," Token says that night while we are making dinner. It's a feast by our standards: microwaveable tacos, potato chips, bags of chocolate, and even those tiny bagel bites. And this is only a small selection of what Bebe and Clyde managed to catch. It makes me feel better, knowing we can hold out going outside for another week or two.

Clyde turns on the television to the news, where an emergency broadcast is playing. They haven't said anything in a day or two, aside from small updates. A cure is in the works, or so they say. This gives us all hope. Once Clyde figures out that no news is actually coming through he turns it off and Bebe turns her iPhone all the way up and soon smooth jazz resonances throughout the room.

"I know," I say back. I want a cigarette, badly. It's a bad habit I developed even before the world went to shit. Instead I chew on my lip and survey our group. Tweek is helping Bebe put up the groceries, while Red is writing notes with a serious expression on her face. Clyde is dancing with Kevin as the smaller, meek boy cooks the food.

"What do we do?" He asks, voice calm and steady.

"I don't know yet," I reply, sighing.

"The cure should only take another week or two." Token says with a little lilt in his voice. He always thinks positively which is nice compared to my normally pessimistic and apathetic demeanor.

Bebe suddenly coughs, a wide grin on her pretty face. She says, "Clyde and I managed to get a few more things in the store before Cartman and his gang showed up."

We all look at her curiously. She giggles and steps away; on the tabletop is a mixture of alcohol. There's beers, and wines; wine coolers and even a thing of Bailey's which I'm sure is for Tweek. We stare with our jaws slack.

"I thought, well, Clyde and I thought, we needed a night to just have fun. Be teenagers; party like the seniors we are. Like the survivors we are!" She says with flourish. Clyde is dancing to a Nat King Cole song and looks absolutely elated.

Finally, Red stands up and with a smile says, "You're right. We can have a night just for us. We've secured the building, and I doubt one night of fun is going to kill us."

"It's not the fun you should be worried about," I snap, irritable. Tweek's brown eyes flash to mine and I can tell he is concerned. I look away, and stare down at the table.

"Dude, why are you being such a fucker today?" Red snaps.

"I'm just... This isn't the time for high school bullshit! This isn't a fucking John Hughes film, Red."

"Excuse you, but this is the perfect time for that as we are high schoolers stuck in a high school."

I glare, "It's irresponsible."

"If not now then _when_, Craig? We've been here for a whole week, fighting tooth and nail to live. I think we can sacrifice one night to just be kids." And her words tumble out so softly. It hits me, and I gulp suddenly feeling very much like the asshole I am. She's right. She is, and I fucking hate to admit it because I fucking hate Red sometimes. We've been going nonstop, just trying to be okay that we have barely had a moment to just exist. It's corny but true.

No one says anything at first, until Token stands up. "I'm sorry," I blurt out, and all heads snap toward me. Then a dopey smile flashes across all their faces, except for Tweek who is still staring at me with curious eyes. Clyde and Kevin high five in glee and pop open a beer each on the edge of the table. They proceed to shotgun said drink and slam down the empty glass bottles.

Token claps me on the back and goes to steer Red towards the wine. Bebe pops open a beer and hands it to me, smiling apologetically. So I say I'm sorry to her as well, because Bebe is usually filled with good intentions. I see Tweek going to make coffee, obviously to put his Bailey's into; I want to talk to him, but I'm nervous. Which is ridiculous because I'm usually so unshakeable. Instead, I lean against the counter as Frank Sinatra croons our small group into a drunken bliss.

––—∞—––

I'm awoken some hours later by a noise down the hall. Everyone has since passed out in our kitchen area; someone even had the politeness to turn off the light. I'm wide awake if not a little hungover. I go to get up and feel something heavy in my lap. Looking down I realize it's Tweek and I lose my breath. He looks peaceful, not twitchy or spastic like he is when he is awake. His hair is a tangled mess, and I briefly bend over to press my face against it. He stirs, mumbles and clutches onto the fabric of my pants in a sleepy daze. I could stay here forever, I think, admiring my crush in the darkness.

Another clambering echoes and I decide I can come back once I know we are all safe. Slowly, I get up without rustling Tweek too much. He mumbles, and curls into a tight ball but remains asleep. I hardly ever see him sleep, so I'm careful to keep him that way. I grab my pipe from where I had leaned it on a cabinet and quietly exit the room.

It's dark. Like, can barely see dark. I squint and slowly head toward the sound. I'm worried it's a walker, because if one got in so can another...

Not to mention Cartman's crew.

The noise comes from our normal hangout room, and this alerts me even more. The door is opened slightly, moonlight casting a long shadow of someone, something. I take a deep breath, and on the count of three I run in, metaphorical guns blazing.

The intruder hears me and gets out of the way as I swing my pipe, barely missing my target. I curse and whirl to see who it is, simultaneously taking the pipe with me.

"Dude, chill," the intruder says, catching my weapon mid-swing and twisting it out of my grasp. "It's me," he says again and my eyes adjust to see Kenny McCormick sitting on an open windowsill. I glower at him. Kenny is skinny, and lanky, and surprisingly athletic for a pot head. He still wears an orange parka, caked in god knows what, tatty jeans, mismatched Converse shoes, and a brown bandana over his mouth which he has generously lowered so I can understand him. "I'm not here to hurt you guys, I actually want to help you."

He sounds genuine.

"What do you want? It's early as fuck and I'm exhausted," I hiss.

"Cartman's furious with you guys," Kenny says softy, hair ruffling in the wind leaking through the open window. It's quiet outside and it unnerves me; with walkers out there it's hardly ever quiet. "Bebe did some serious damage. He's planning something."

I lean against the counter, arms crossed over my chest. "Why should I trust you? You side with him," I snap. Kenny's brow furrows and he sighs.

"Because I'm going to save your dumb ass, you Podunk faggot." He snarls. It catches me off guard and I stumble a little. He cocks a half grin at me when he catches my clumsiness. With an elegant movement he jumps down from his spot in the window and stretches his limbs. "I have a condition though," he adds as he pulls out a carton of cigarettes and lights one, inhaling half the damn thing in one breathe and blowing smoke rings.

I reach out and grab his pack, helping myself to one. He eyes me, but I flip him off and light the thing. Oh, oh god yes. Sweet nicotine take me to paradise. We sit in silence for a bit, me puffing on the cigarette and Kenny sucking his down to the filter. "So," I begin, "What are your conditions?"

Kenny hums to himself for a second, staring outside the window before answering, "I want you to protect Butters." I stare at him, face a blank canvas. It's not a secret that Butters and Kenny are close; they have been since fourth grade and some weird trip thing went down in Hawaii. Whatever, like I give a shit. The point is the two are about as close as friends can be without wanting to screw each other's brains out. I would think this is the case if Butters wasn't an asexual human being with no interest in sexual adventures of any kind. He likes people, don't get me wrong, the dude is friendly as can be and he basically loves everyone.

But he has no interest in sex. Which is a problem as Kenny is a notorious horn dog.

"Why?" I ask.

"I'm not sure I can for much longer," he replied, blue eyes narrowing. "Like I said, Cartman is planning something. I want you to make sure Butters stays safe, no matter what." He turns to me with a pained expression, practically begging me to say 'yeah, okay man'.

We stare at each other. "Fine," I concede, "I'll do my best, now tell me what he's planning." Kenny's shoulders fall in relief and he grins at me with nearly perfect teeth.

"He's planning to turn me into a zombie," Kenny says, and as he does he withers like a flower. He fiddles with a hole in the sleeves of his parka, avoiding my gaze at all costs.

I couldn't help it.

I laughed in his face.

His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. I finally stopped, wiping away the fake tears from my eyes. "That's fucking retarded, dude," I finally said, "How does he propose to do that to you? He would lose a member of his group. He's not that stupid."

Kenny sneered, "You don't know how little people mean to Eric, do you Craig? Not everyone is a fucking white knight or as friendly as you." The last part was a jab at me; I'm not friendly, I don't like people. Except Tweek. And my family. And usually Clyde. Always Token. That's not the point. The point is I'm an asshole.

But in the zombie apocalypse I've sort of become a kind of hero to my small group.

"I wasn't worried when I heard him talking about it to Esther. I mean, I die all the time. I can just come back and kick his ass," he let out a mirthless chuckle. A groan resonates in our ears and we both look out the window at the few zombies mingling about. One was scrabbling at a boarded up window in vain. Kenny rolled his eyes at it. "But then it occurred to me that zombies aren't really dead. Their brains might be, but not their bodies. I wouldn't be able to come back, because I wouldn't be dead."

"I could always bash your stupid head in," I offered, "I have no problem doing that. In fact, it would be downright therapeutic."

"Anyways," Kenny ground out, losing patience, "it makes me the perfect zombie weapon. Your group can kill me a number of times, and I'll just come back, Cartman will turn me back into a zombie and I keep going. An inexpensive weapon, all at the cost of my body and sanity." He said the last part bitterly, the words said through clenched teeth.

"Dude," was all I managed. Kenny ran grimy fingers through his blonde hair and sighed heavily.

"I know there's a cure in the works, but I don't know how long that will take. I don't want to be one of them, Tucker. Not ever," his voice was like stone. We stood in silence but for the sound of dull nails scratching at the walls a floor below us. "Cartman's got guns, and a lot of them. Your bitch ass pipe can only last you so long. If you protect Butters, I will bring you reinforcements to help."

"What type of reinforcements?" I ask, curiosity piqued.

"I'll bring you The Mole."

I blinked, "What?"

"The Mole. Homeschooled kid. Kinda weird, likes to dig holes, carries a shovel. Made out with Kyle at last year's Halloween party?"

Oh yeah. That did ring a bell. A small one, but nonetheless.

"He's a mercenary. He can help you keep Cartman and company out of your area until the cure is announced. And, as an added bonus, I'll get you some of Cartman's weapons."

"We don't want to kill anyone," I said.

"I didn't say you had to. But if you have them, that means he doesn't." Kenny smirked, eyes twinkling in that way that told me he meant business. "I'll get Butters over here tomorrow," he started, looking out into the night air, "And I'll bring weapons and a map to the Mole's house."

I narrowed my eyes, "Why can't you just get him to come here?"

"You gotta prove to him you're worth sticking with. And what better way than to face hoards of the undead in pursuit of his assistance?" Kenny salutes sarcastically, pulls up his brown bandana over his mouth and waves, "T.t.f.n. Ta-ta for now," he sings as he fell backwards out the window.

I start after him, hand outstretched. But when I got to the window he was already gone, leaving in his wake beheaded zombies, laying in pools of their own rancid blood. "Jesus," I mumbled, "I have to get out of this crazy town."

––—∞—––

Tweek was washing his hands when I got back to the food area. Everyone else was still asleep, and, basically, I was exhausted as well until I saw Tweek. The blonde gave a wan smile to me, "H-hey stranger. Where did you go?"

I grinned back, "Had some business to take care of. What are you doing up?" We kept our voices low, hushed so that the others would enjoy their slumber. Tweek ran a hand through his straw blonde hair and shrugged.

"You know I don't sleep," he stated, "I just woke up and I was going to go to the bunk and lay down on something more comfortable." He stared at me for a moment then, brown eyes rimmed in sleep deprived bruises, but bright and beautiful. It took everything I had not to reach out to him. "You l-look tired. Do you want to come with me?" His hand reached out for mine, long fingers brushing against my own as he slid his hand into mine. His hands were freezing.

"Sure," was all I said and he led me to a room a few doors down which we had converted into a sort of sleeping area. There were blankets we had managed to scrounge up, and even a pillow or two. It wasn't much, but it was more comfortable than the linoleum.

Tweek shut the door behind us, locked it, doubled checked the lock, and then, for good measure, pushed a chair on front of it. He then turned back to me and gracefully strode past me to the pallet of blankets. He kicked his sneakers off, aligning them perfectly on the floor before tucking his socks into the corresponding shoe and crawling into blanket heaven.

I followed suit, getting in beside him. When we were younger we had a lot of sleepovers. It was when I discovered Tweek needed something to hug if he were to sleep soundly. I'd awoken to his arms around my neck and his cheek pressed against my collar bone. For Christmas I had my mom make him a doll that looked like me and I gave it to him and he cried. It was awesome. I wondered him if he still had it, but I didn't think it prudent to ask.

"Craig?"

"Yeah, Tweek?" I answered as he pulled me under the covers, into a secret cave for just the two of us.

"Do you ever get scared?"

"Not really, sometimes though. Why?" It was dark under here, but I could see Tweek's outline and hear his breathing. His hand darted out and grabbed mine again; he is shaking.

"I'm scared, all the time... I miss my mom, my dad, Thomas," he whispered the last name almost too softly to hear. He scoots closer to me, and I can feel his breath on my face. My heart is pounding; my brain is going haywire. This isn't the time to be thinking about how soft his lips probably are, or how he would taste; if he would moan if I bit his collar bone...

Thank god it's dark.

"Don't be scared," I respond, "I won't let anything bad happen to you." And I mean it, and he knows I do. His breathing stops altogether, but I can feel his eyes on me. All of a sudden it's too hot, and I feel my throat close up. "I'll protect you," I whisper, moving my head closer to his. He flinches at the movement, but doesn't pull back. I can see his eyes wide and bright, his Cupid's bow lips parted slightly. "I'll keep you safe, Tweek," I whisper against his lips before pushing forward, my free hand coming up to cup his face. Tweek stills against my kiss.

It doesn't matter, I press closer, nipping my teeth on his lower lip. He moans. It makes heat pool inside me, going straight to my crotch. Finally, he moves. He tightens his grip on my hand and tilts his head up to kiss me back. I'm in ecstasy, I moan his name, and he gasps, mouth opening for me, hot and slick and all mine.

I press my body flush to his, entangling our legs. "C-Craig," he moans against my mouth, as I press soft kisses to the corners of his before dipping to kiss his jaw, his neck, his collar bone.

I bite.

He bucks, hissing my name through teeth. His hand untangles from mine, catches my hat and tears it off before grabbing fistfuls of hair. I purr into his throat, before returning to his mouth.

"Is this okay?" I breathe, feeling sweat beginning to form on my forehead.

Tweek gulps, "Yes." He sighs it to me, his voice light as air, barely heard over my pounding heart. I'm kissing Tweek. I'm tangled up with my best friend; who I love; who is so scared all the time; who lost a love of his own, recently, but is clinging to me like the last beacon of hope.

His nails dig into my arms as he pants, "Clothes off. Too hot." And I obey, I obey. Rolling on top of him, I take my shirt off as he fiddles with the buttons on his. I get impatient; I rip them off and he gasps, looking angry for a second before my hands are undoing his belt, his pants. He lifts his hips so I can get his jeans off, and as I do so I bend over him and kiss his hipbone.

I'm about to take my pants off when he sits up, surprising me. I always forget he's taller than me until he is looking down at me. He adjusts it so I'm on his lap, and I can feel his dick hardening as he leans forward to whisper, "L-let me." And his fingers, which had trembled so badly early, swiftly undo my pants and they're off in a flash. He looks at me, and even in the darkness I can see his brown eyes. I grab his head in my hands and kiss him hard, sending him tumbling back to the pillows and blankets. I kick the blanket that had served as our roof away, and spread Tweek's legs with my knee before grinding into him. He mewls, he arches his back, white skin alive and glowing.

I kiss him more, because I can't get enough of his lips, and his taste. His hands are tangled in my hair again, as we move against each other, breathing heavily and moaning into each other's mouths. I move my mouth to his ear and nibble on the lobe before trailing my tongue across the shell of his ear. He shivers, and grinds his hips up to mine.

The friction is delicious.

"I've wanted you for so long," I find myself saying as I rock against him, teasing and torturing. Tweek whimpers when I grab his hands and pin them above his head. "I love you, Tweek. I'll never let anything hurt you," I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. It's sticky with sweat, but I don't give a fuck.

His eyebrows are knitted in thought, his lips pursed, and eyes about to brim with tears. He sniffles, a sad little sound tears from his throat. "Please don't cry," I ask, using my thumb to wipe them away. He closes his eyes tightly, squeezing out another tear before he regains his composure.

"I can't do this," he says in a weak, defeated voice.

"Tweek," I start but he shakes his head. His blonde hair is splayed all over the pillow, made golden by the moonlight peeking in.

"Please, Craig. Just g-get off of me," he says, turning his head so he doesn't have to look at me. I'm lost. What did I do wrong? We were just fine a moment ago. What happened?

I don't ask, or argue. I just get off him and he brings his palms up to press into his closed eyes while he counts backwards to calm himself. I pull a blanket over him so he doesn't feel embarrassed. We sit in silence with him lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with a pained look on his face, and myself sitting a good distance away, trying not to be needy or greedy.

"Craig?" He asks.

"Yeah?"

"Please d-don't kiss me ever again," he says in a calm voice before pulling the blanket over his head and turning his back to me.

"Okay," I say back blankly, and I know we are done with this conversation.

––—∞—––

The next day it's rainy, and gloomy. The rain makes the air crisp, and biting at times. I told the group about the plan, and everyone seemed okay with it. Tweek sat far away from me, staring out the window and sipping from a mug of coffee.

"I don't trust Kenny," Red finally stated, crossing her arms over her chest. "We don't know this 'Mole', it could be a trap." I rolled my eyes at her, which she caught and proceeded to flip me off. I shot one back at her.

"Kenny isn't that smart," Kevin pointed out, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Clyde nodded in agreement, giving a thumbs up as his mouth was full of Lucky Charms. "Plus, if he's involving Butters then I know there's no underlying motive." Kevin's voice annoys me so I glare to shut him up.

"How do you know?" I snarl.

"We play Lego Star Wars. He's always a Jedi," Kevin says with conviction.

"Well then," I sneer, "How can I argue with that logic?" Token sighs next to me and Kevin looks crestfallen.

"It's not a bad plan. Let's all talk to Kenny when he comes tonight and figure out the best and safest course of action," Token says, smiling brightly. Token's so unbelievably chill; it makes me wonder what he would be like if someone pissed him off. "Let's clean up, and take a break until then. I'm going to see if I can get through to dad to find out any updates."

Bebe stood up, and picked her quiver of arrows off the ground. She had her curly blonde hair up in a ponytail today, a white flowy crop top, and high waisted black shorts. Her legs were covered in knee high camo socks and her combat boots were tied over that. She looked badass; if I was into chicks I would so be into Bebe. She notices me staring and grins, "Come clean up with me." She nods her head toward the door.

I glance at Tweek out of the corner of my eyes. He hasn't moved one bit. I nod to Bebe, and stand up. I see Tweek turn his head ever so slightly in my direction, but I ignore it. "Clyde, Kevin you're on kitchen cleaning duty. Red...just, do whatever it is you do," I say. The two stooges bob their heads yes, and get up to go to the kitchen.

"I'm going to make some more molotovs, I think. And scrounge up what I can to make traps in case the fat fuck tries anything," she says, grinning from ear to ear. Token leans over to kiss her on the cheek, and she blushes.

"Y'all make me sick," I say before Bebe drags me out by my collar and towards the stairs that lead to the roof.

––—∞—––

"So," Bebe starts innocently as she pulls back her bow, aiming expertly at the head of a zombie, "What happened between you and Tweek?"

I choke on my own spit. She smirks before letting her arrow fly; it hits the target and the undead creature falls. Another zombie trips over the corpse and face plants into the grass. "Don't act so surprised, I'm blonde, not stupid." She states, holding out her hand towards me. I place another arrow in her hand and go back to making more.

Her weapon is one of the only long distance ones we have, so we've begun to whittle sticks into arrows for her to use. Thank you wood shop, you actually taught me one useful thing. I ignore her question as she shoots off another arrow. She curses; she missed. We have to do this every few days: come onto the roof and take care of the zombies surrounding our base. If we don't they keep coming, and if enough of them press against the door they could push it open and get inside. So, we have "clean up" days where I make arrows, Bebe shoots the fuckers, and we retrieve any arrows we can later.

"Why did you join the archery club?" I ask.

She sits back in her dinky fold out chair and sighs. "Dad wanted a football playing, ladies man, all American boy. Instead," she grabs an arrow from me, "He got me." The arrow flies, and it hits it's mark. She lets out a laugh, raising her arms in victory.

She doesn't sound bitter when she tells me, "I don't care for football. I'm not into cheerleading, soccer, tennis, or swimming like you are. But I wanted to prove to him I am as tough as any male, and I can kick ass while wearing great shoes. Archery seemed like the best option for me. Plus, Clyde's in football, and I'm saying Clyde so dad's never been happier." She looks down at my hunched form. "Tell me what happened."

I feign ignorance, "What do you mean? Nothing happened." I thank god for my bland, nasally way of talking.

"Uh, yes it did. Usually you and Tweek are thick as thieves. He wouldn't even look at you today," she says, as she fires off another two arrows consecutively. She then sits down right across from me, legs crossed Indian style with her back hunched and hands clasped together. "Why is that?" She uses her best therapy voice and I glower.

I stare at her, hoping she will give up.

We sit there for thirty minutes, unmoving, barely blinking. Then I give up, "I kissed him."

She shrieks before clamping her hands over her mouth as she giggles around them. I glare. "Oh my gosh, do you suck at kissing? Is that why he's mad?" I flip her off and she erupts into laughter again.

"Did you touch his penis?"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Bebe," I sighed, hiding my face in my hands. This was stupid. "I told him I loved him." The words tumble out before I have a chance to think about it. I shoot my head up, eyes wide. Bebe looks the same, blue eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets.

"You did not," she says in disbelief. I can only nod. "You're a fucking moron, Tucker."

"Oh, whatever! Like you're any better Bebe!" I snarl defensively. The blonde girl continues to shake her head and look at me under her fringe. She sighs, puckering her lips in thought. I let her have all the time she wants.

Bebe has known about my crush for a while; luckily, she's not a cunt and knows when to mind her own business...

Sometimes.

When it suits her.

"He lost Thomas two weeks ago, Craig. He's hurting, and you stick your tongue down his throat and touch his dick."

"Stop talking," I groan, pulling my hat over my eyes.

"It was tactless of you to say that to him. The zombie apocalypse isn't exactly the best time to profess your affection," she points out. Twirling a piece of curly hair she continues, "He's confused and hurt. You're his best friend, and of course he's scared and lost, and you're big bad Craig come to save the day. But, he loved Thomas in a different way. I'm sure it hurt to hear those words not from him."

It makes sense, but I don't like it. I sigh, falling back to the cement. Little drops of rain start to sprinkle down, and the wind picks up. There's a storm coming, I can feel it. She lays down next to me, blonde hair smelling of strawberries, and tickling my ears as it fans out. "I'm an idiot," I say blankly.

"You're not," Bebe says tenderly, taking a hold of my hand, "you're in love."

As if that solves anything.

––—∞—––

I'm back, bitches. I've been writing this story for a couple of weeks now. I hope you like it so far, and want more. Please review if you feel I deserve it. I'm still working on a lot of different fics, and I mostly write them on my iphone now, so be patient. I will do my best to keep them coming.

Feel free to follow me on Tumblr, if you like: warriorprincessmeg is my username.

All my love,

BloodMoonNights


	2. Chapter 2

_Character Profile #2_: Tweek Tweak

_Age:_ 17

_Weapon of Choice:_ metal baseball bat

_Soundtrack choices:_

-Harmless Monster by CocoRosie

-Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap

-Haunted by Taylor Swift

––—∞—––

_Chapter Track(s): Clear the Area by Imogen Heap_

––—∞—––

Bebe and I stayed on the roof for another hour, talking idly about this and that. She held my hand, squeezing it occasionally as if to say, "It's okay, Craigers." I appreciated it more than I would ever let on.

When the rain began to come down in sheets we raced inside, soaked to the bone. My hand dripped, and Bebe's top was clinging to her body tightly. We laughed as we headed back to the conference room, squishy noises coming from our soaked shoes. "He'll come around," Bebe said finally. I look down at her with a blank look. "Don't worry too much." She slapped my back hard enough to send me slipping forward before disappearing into what we had made the girls shower room (really just another classroom that had a standup eye wash thing. Ghetto, but it worked).

I went to the boy's one to get out of the freezing clothes. My hat was drenched, so I wrung it out and hung it to dry. I felt naked without it; more naked than when I actually was naked. I'm strange, I know, shut up. I shucked off my jacket, jeans, tee, socks and shoes and turned on the shower. The water was lukewarm. I stood there and dreamt of hot showers.

And I dreamt of Tweek, as I always did.

Gym clothes were my only other alternative as my normal clothes dried out. I hate them, but it was either this or go naked. It consists of a grey tee with our schools name encircling our bovine mascot; the shorts are forest green and frankly too damn short for my taste. I'm talking, "skies out, thighs out" high. I pull on our regulation knee high socks and pad out of the room. Besides the moaning of the few undead Bebe did not decimate it's quiet.

I make my way to the cafeteria area, craving something sweet. My hand is on the doorknob when I hear a scream, "Help us! Open up!" I bolt down the hall to the hole we had made in the second story; we hadn't been able to destroy the stairs but we had blocked them off. I toss the handmade ladder down and crawl down it quickly.

The screams continue, along with loud bangs against the locked doors. I grab Tweek's baseball bat, which he leaves on the first floor in case anyone needs it. Through the bloodstained glass I see Wendy.

She looks horrible. Her brown eyes catch mine and she screams, "Craig! Please, open up. Kyle is hurt really badly." I can hear moaning getting closer, and I can see Kyle bleeding in her arms as she tried to keep him propped up. I can't see Stan, but I know he's trying to protect the two most important people in his life.

Quickly I shout back up the hole for help, hoping someone might have heard me. I bolt to the door, plucking the keys from their hidden spot under some discarded chairs. "Back up," I order and she nods, tears flowing down her pale cheeks and through the dirt and blood caked on them.

Fumbling, I unlock the door and swing it open. Wendy rushes forward, trying to carry the slender Jew who is passed out in her arms. I help her inside, hardly paying much attention to either of them before darting out into the rain toward Stan. He's surrounded by the undead, and he is keeping them back, but barely.

"Move!" I scream, and he does as I crack the bat down on a zombies head. It moans sickeningly, knees bending until it collapses. "Let's go," I say and Stan looks at me with grateful blue eyes before running back to the door.

We shut the door together as more undead start to flock. I wrap the chain around the door once more, locking it, before grabbing the desks closest to me and piling them up on the door. Once that was done I turned to the three new visitors.

Wendy is on the ground with Kyle in her lap. She has seen better days. Her purple hat is missing, and her hair is mussed. The school president, normally so immaculate and pristine, is drenched from the rain, with a torn purple coat, slash marks through her yellow jeans with cut the skin below. Her shoes are caked in dried blood, as is her coat as she tries to stop Kyle from bleeding out. Her hand tremble, and Stan bends down to whisper to her and help.

Stan looks calm, but he's shaking. His hat is still on his head, but his skin in too pale, and eyes ringed in dark bruises. His lip is split, and he's got a huge bruise forming on his left cheek the size of a meat cleaver. He's got a few rips on his coat, and his jeans are frayed but he looks okay for the most part.

Kyle Broflovski looks like death. His skin is sallow and his breathing is rapid and short. He's got blood everywhere, and one of his eyes is swollen shut and a sickening black. Around his leg is a blood soaked bandage which leaks onto the linoleum. Stan pulls more bandages from his coat and takes off the bloodied one before wrapping the sound again. It immediately begins to bleed again, though not as bad.

"C'mon," I say, bending to pick up Kyle and hoist him over my shoulder. He groans, but doesn't move. Stan helps Wendy up, and the hold hands fiercely. He kisses her forehead and smiles at her. "We can clean him up. Red may be able to patch him up, and then we can talk," I say.

The two neutrals stare at me with haunted eyes, but nod before we head up to the second floor.

We are all seated in the conference room, except Kyle who is stable and sleeping in the bunk area. Red had pulled a bullet out of the Jews thigh, before stitching it up with some thread and needle Bebe kept in her purse. She disinfected it with some hydrogen peroxide before wrapping it and letting him rest.

Wendy is sitting next to Bebe, who is holding her best friend as she sniffles. Stan sits with a blanket around his shoulder. Tweek walls in carrying three hot mugs of coffee: one for him and the other two for the neutrals. He looks at me, finally, and smiles a little before heading to his seat near the window.

"What happened?" Token asks gently. His eyebrows are knit in concern, and his mouth is pursed. He's worried. Someone almost died. It's scary.

Stan sips his coffee and gives a thankful look to the blonde who smiles at him brightly. Smile at me like that, I think selfishly. The black haired boy coughs into his elbow before beginning, "Cartman happened."

"I thought he was going to leave you alone?" Bebe asked softly, stroking Wendy's hair. The former president shook her head.

"He's a monster," she spat viciously, "He burst into the library and demanded our cooperation. He said we shouldn't be neutral anymore, and that if we didn't help him fight you he would kill us." She looked furious, even through the tears.

"We obviously said no. The whole point of being neutral was just to survive," Stan said, warming his hands on the mug. "He got pissed off, hobbled over to Wendy and grabbed her." He frowned at the memory. "Kyle tried to push him away before I could, and Cartman turned on him. He punched him in the face and Kyle went down..."

He trails off at the memory. The room goes silent and still.

"Who gave you the shiner?" I asked, pointing to Stan's face. He blinked slowly, before sighing out,

"Butters did. He came at me with a meat cleaver."

And we gaped. "He didn't mean to," Wendy defended, "you know how manipulative Cartman is over him." We nodded our agreement, knowing it to be true.

"Long story short he got pissed off, and when we attempted to bolt he shot Kyle in the thigh. Kyle is lucky to be alive..." Stan trails off, glancing at the door of the room, as if he expects Kyle to walk in at any moment. "We are on your side now, dude," Stan said with vicious conviction. Token smiled and patted the raven haired boy on the back. Wendy nodded her agreement and Bebe kept her in a tight hug.

Tweek made a startled noise that escaped out his throat. "J-Jesus Christ," he stammered, "They're here!" I ran over to the window and looked outside. Sure enough, walking up to our base, surrounded by the girls spraying zombies with bullets, was Eric Cartman. He hobbled a little, a bandage around his leg. Butters and Kenny trailed behind him, as did Jimmy Valmer who must have just joined the fray.

Once the last zombie around them dropped dead, Eric's eyes zoomed up to us. He shot us a murderous leer and I felt Tweek grab onto my hand, while whispering fearfully to himself.

"What do they want?" Clyde asked nervously, brown eyes wide with worry.

"He's not moving any closer," Token observed, "maybe he just wants to talk?"

"I doubt that's all he wants," came Bebe's voice, cold as ice. Tweek looked up at me with wide eyes, and I felt my face go red. He squeezed my hand tighter and I gave him a reassuring smile.

I let go of his hand and whirled. "We need to see what he wants," I decided. Pale faces stare back at me but no one said anything. "Bebe, get your bow and keep him in your sights at all times." I demanded.

The blonde smirked and saluted, "You got it, Tucker. Clyde, Kevin, you're with me. It's time to see how you've improved." Clyde nodded, looking terrified but not willing to disobey his girlfriend.

"Token, you're with me. Stan as well, if you're up to it." The football star looked at me and nodded, eyes hard and hands clenched tight. "Red, you and Wendy keep some Molotovs ready if we need them."

Red gave me a thumbs up and cocked her hip out, "will do!"

I turned to my favorite blonde who was picking at the skin on his fingers and shuffling nervously. I reached out, unsure if this was okay, and touched the top of his hands. His eyes flashed to mine, lips pursed in a thin line as he grabbed onto my hands tightly.

"Tweek, I want you to watch over Kyle. You take your bat, and lock the door to the bunk. Don't let anyone in without the password." I said slowly, as soothingly as possible.

"What's the password?" He whispers, turning my hands over in his.  
>"Underpants," I say in a low whisper and he chuckles. "Be safe," I say to him before taking back my hands and motioning for Token and Stan to follow me.<p>

"Drop your weapons," Token bellows out the small crevice of the door. I watch from around a corner, through glass, to see what happens. Esther and Millie look at their leader who nods. They unload their guns and then drop the weapons to the mud. Cartman takes a pistol from his pocket and mock shoots at us before laughing mirthlessly and tossing it as well. Kenny shrugs, no weapons on his person, while Butters tossed a meat cleaver he held in his tiny hands. Jimmy had nothing but his crutches, which I knew could pack a wallop, but I wasn't going to ask him to abandon those.

"Let's go," Token mumbled, gripping onto his weapon (a golf club) tightly. Stan was silent, holding his own weapon by his side; it was a crude thing: a chair from the library chairs or tables, with nails sticking out of the top part.

I grabbed my pipe, before unlocking the door to our sanctuary and stepping out into the drizzle. We walked slowly, aware of the moans around us and of Cartman's movements. They remain still until we are facing one another.

Cartman looks just as ugly as he used to; not that his appearance is grotesque but when someone is so outlandishly evil you can't help but be disgusted. In his teenage years he had grown up, thinning out for the most part with his bulk redistributing itself. He was on the school wrestling team, and was built like a brick house. His eyes, black and beady, twinkled as he admired my troupe.

"It's so good to see you all again," he says, his thin lips pulling into a wretched smile. "Stan, I see you're still alive. How fortunate."

Stan bristles behind me. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman. What do you want?" I notice Kenny's eyes glowing from under his parka. He gives a slight nod, and I know it means we are still on the same page. Butters shivers in the cold next to him, his thin blue cardigan doing nothing to shield him from the chilly winds and soft rain drops.

Butters was still small, and still thin. Not much had changed about him, except for his voice which deepened just a bit. Half his head was shaved into a Mohawk which hung limply to one side. He started when Kenny laid his parka over the small shoulders. Kenny smiled, pulling his bandana down from over his mouth. Butters flushed happily and wrapped it around himself.

"I want a truce. Didn't that bitch Red relay my message?" His words have Token clenching his jaw. Cartman laughs, covering his mouth, "Oh gosh. I forgot you have a thing for her. Pardon me, pardon me."

"He's not worth it," I said softly and Token calmed himself, but his glare remained locked on Cartman.

"Your outfit is stupid, Craig," the jackass sneers. I look down at my gym outfit and shrug.

"Don't be jealous. Green isn't your color, fucker." I retort. Cartman sniffs contemptuously and turns his pig eyes to the roof. Bebe and Clyde are up there, arrows aimed on him if he makes any movement. He sighs, rubbing his temples as if annoyed.

"All I want is Kyle and Bebe. After that, you can all have fuck off for all I care. But I want those two."

"You're not getting Kyle," Stan snarls with all the ferocity of a rabid dog. He takes a step forward, seething from his head to his toes.

"You'll never get Bebe, either. Give it up," I snap, "You're wasting our time." Low moans echo, signaling a hoard is nearing our location. Butters and Jimmy stare in it's direction with wide eyes. Millie looks like she might go for her gun, but she catches Token's eyes and stops.

Cartman sneers, "That blonde cunt shot me with an arrow. I demand restitution."  
>"How? By killing her? You're not some sweet angel, dude. There's no way you'll ever get anyone from this group." Token says with conviction. I believe in his words and it makes me smile. Stan nods and I maybe don't hate him as much as I did before this whole apocalypse thing.<p>

"I'm the victim here!" He shreiks.  
>"W-well that's not really true, Eric. You kinda tried to grab her," Butters points out, not dating to make eye contact. Cartman whirls on the small boy and makes like he is going to hit him when two things happen at once:<p>

One, Kenny goes to block the hit, eyes a steely grey as he prepares to protect Butters.

And two, Bebe shoots an arrow whizzing past Cartman's face. He screams again, stumbles back into the mud.

I laugh as he turns red and sputters. Millie and Esther help him up and he shoves them away. With his jaw clenched so tightly a nerve is pulsating there, he looks at us and growls out, "I will get my revenge."

They left after that, all angry eyes and sneers. I couldn't fucking care less as long as they stay away. We locked the place up extra well, as Cartman's voice had carried and more zombies were entering the area every now and then.

Once back on the second floor Stan and Token went back to their respective women and I headed to the bunk. I rapped on the door two times, only to hear a loud clamoring and a small shriek. "W-what's the password?" Tweek squeaked through the metal. I smiled; he was shaking, I could practically feel it pulsating, but he was trying to be brave.

"Underpants," I said, and the door flew open and he flew into my arms. He buried his face in my chest, long arms wrapping around me as if I were going to leave. Inside the room I could see Kyle sitting up with some struggle. He saw me and his eyes went wide before he sent a nod my way. I sent one back and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Tweek," I say softly, "Kyle is up. I'm going to take him to Stan, and to maybe get some food." He stared at me with his owl eyes and nodded before allowing me to pass by him. Kyle looks up at me pensively.

It's no secret that I fucking hate Stan and his crew. I don't hide it, because I want them to know I fucking hate them. Kyle is probably the least pathetic, but he still annoys me. I hold out my hand, though, and he grabs onto the wrist and I pull him up. He groans, wobbles, and crashes into me. "S-sorry," he choked out, voice hoarse.

I grunt in response, but help him out of the room and down the hall. In the conference room he is assaulted with a hug from Wendy, who begins to sob on him. Stan stands behind her, looking like he might cry himself, and patiently waits for his turn to hug his friend.

Clyde and Bebe are watching the affair, with Bebe's head on Clyde's shoulder. He plays with her hair and she just smiles. Red and Token are sitting at the table going over notes while Kevin doodles on a piece of scratch paper. I watch them all, these people, these survivors are my...friends?

It's weird to think that a week ago I barely knew half of these people, or hated them, and now we are like a big family. And I don't want to sound corny, but motherfucking fuck, if anything happened to them I'd...

I back out slowly and head back to Tweek. He is folding the blankets in the bunk area and smoking a cigarette. I knock to get his attention. He smiles at me around the smoke and sits down, crossing his legs and patting the seat next to him. Although I'm getting mixed signals from him, I happily take the seat.

He hands me his crumpled cigarettes, and I grab one. We smoke in silence until I say, "I am sorry about last night." He tenses, and eyes me from the corner of his eyes, but he shrugs.

"I don't want to talk about it, ngh," he says softly, and I nod. "When you go, I want to go with you." I whip my head quickly, and he's looking down at his fingers, picking the skin from his nails. I reach out and touch the top of his bony hand and he stops.

"Don't do that," I said, "You'll mess up your hands." Tweek grunts but nods regardless and sits on his hands. "You don't have to come with me. Token said he would come."

"I want to," he says softly, "I d-d-don't like it when I don't know where you are." I feel blush spread on my face and cough into my fist for something to break the silence.

Finally, he moves his hands from under his butt to grab my hand. He squeezes it, pulsating his hand in mine like a heartbeat, and warming me to the core. "Okay," I say, "I'd like that." He smiles.

––—∞—––

Christopher's house was on the very edge of town, a tall mansion colored a pale pink which I snickered at. The iron gate that surrounded it was mostly still intact, but perhaps that was because there were zombies impaled upon spikes or caught in bear traps. They didn't get very far, and it seemed that their smell was warding off others. "This is some W-walking Dead shit, man." Tweek said, leaning on his baseball bat and staring at the putrid creatures. "Like Michonne. That's totally cool," he breathes and I stare at him from the corner of my eyes.

The gate is closed, but Tweek is so skinny he works his way through the iron bars and manages to unlock it for me. I run in quickly, locking it back up, before heading up the hill to the main doors. There are lights on inside, but around us it is silent.

"What if he shoots at us?" Tweek asks before a bright as fuck spotlight crashes on us. I grunt and shield my eyes while Tweek screams.

"Stop where you are or I'll blow your American asses back to ze Stone Age," comes a loud voice, as though over a speaker.

We froze, and I could see Tweek trembling, and it took everything in me not to wrap him in my arms. "Who ze fuck told you about zis place?" The voice asked.

"Kenny McCormick sent us!" I shout back.

"Bullshit!"

"You really think I would be out in this shit storm if he hadn't? Now fucking let us in, it's cold and we are hungry!" I snarl back. There is silence, and then a crackling of static before the giant double doors to the house groan open. Tweek darts forward, clamoring for safety, and warmth, and I follow. Once inside we slam the door shut and lean against it.

The floor is tiled, and the walls are gold and cream colored which gives off a warm glow. To the left is a bench and a few weapons atop it, and to the right is a large staircase leading to the second floor. The way in front of us takes us to a massive living room with a high ceiling and a balcony you can look down on from the second floor. There are couches and cushions and food plates on an ornate table. The windows are boarded for the most part and there's a fire crackling in the massive fireplace.

This place feels like heaven.

We are in such serendipity that we don't notice the figures standing in the corner, staring at us through the scope of a rifle. "Drop your weapons and put your hands up," comes the same voice and Tweek jumps about ten feet in the air, his bat clattering to the stone floor.

I turn my eyes to the voice but obey. "What are your names? You both look so familiar," says the brown haired boy. He's got a cigarette in his mouth, trailing smoke, and dark circles under his bright brown eyes. I'd notice the Mole anywhere.

"I'm Craig Tucker. This is Tweek Tweak. We have met. Many times," I add in annoyance and he lowers the gun. The black haired boy next to him chuckles and pushed himself off the wall.

"Well, well, well," he laughs with mirth, voice low and nasally even compared to my own dulcet tones. I roll my eyes at the recognition and turn fully. Damien grins at me, "Look what the cat dragged in. How have you been Tucker, you little pussy?" He claps me on the shoulder and his touch burns.

I shrug him off, "Like the pot calling the kettle black, you asshole. You been hiding in this haven like a little bitch I see." Tweek stares at me with a puzzled look and I shrug.

Damien narrows his eyes and pushes past me to take a seat on one of the couches. Christophe steps forward, gun placed back in it's safe spot. "I remember you two," he says, pointing at us with his cigarette.

"Do you have an extra one of those?"

"M-make that two, please," Tweek steps in.

Christophe huff his annoyance but tosses us a pack before going to sit on the edge of the couch and watch us. Tweek and I light the cigarettes greedily and inhale deeply. The look on his face is euphoric, almost orgasmic, and I know the smoke isn't that fucking good. I almost forget about my own as I'm lost watching him.

There's snickering which turns my attention to the two pale assholes sharing a couch. "Are you hungry? We have plenty of food." Christophe offers.

"That would be great," I say nodding my head in thanks, "We would also appreciate a shower and a place to sleep too. We have a lot to talk about." Christophe nods his head and gets up, flicking his cigarette butt into the fireplace.

"Oui. I agree. Let me get you both some food, I shall be right back." And he turned on his heel to go into what I can only assume is the kitchen. Damien continued to stare at us smugly from the couch and Tweek was helping himself to another cigarette. I collapsed onto the recliner in the corner and tried to warm my hands.

It was going to be a long night.

––—∞—––

After a lengthy discussion and many more cigarettes, the Mole agreed to help us. "I always hated zat fat asshole," he scoffed. Damien was more or less on board, mostly because he hadn't seen any action in a while. After some more talk of weapons and food supplies and a cure, Tweek asked to be excused.

"We have hot water still, so feel free to take a shower," he said with a wave of his hand. Tweek lit up brightly and nodded before turning to go up the stairs. I watched him go, probably lingering my gaze a bit too long.

––—∞—––

There is nothing like a hot shower and a warm place to sleep that isn't the floor to remind you of the comforts of times past. Christophe had managed to keep his house powered through who knows how; my guess is Damien and the fires of hell. He had showed me to a nice bedroom and bid me goodnight. After diving head first into the piles of blankets and pillows, I undressed to my boxers and crawled under the sheets.

I wondered how everyone was doing, and wished I had brought my phone charger so I could take advantage of it.

An hour or so later my door creaked open and a blonde head popped in. "Craig?" It whispered harshly. I groaned and waved him in. He did so quickly and crawled in next to me. I was slightly annoyed at being disturbed so close to sleep, but it was Tweek so I wasn't too mad.

I turned to face him, and propped myself up on an elbow. "What's up?"

"Did I wake you up?" He asked, seeming upset at it.

"Yeah, but it's okay. What's wrong?" He shifted closer to me, and my immediate response was to reach out. I could smell his marshmallow hand sanitizer and the shampoo he had put on, and it was all too tempting. Instead, I backed away. Even in the dark I could see the look in his face when I did that. He bites his bottom lip, and I steel myself.

"I just... Felt lonely," he says softly, bringing the comforter up to his lips. I hum my acknowledgement. "Craig... Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything."

"Do...do you hate me now?"

I roll over to give him my best 'are you serious' face. He flushes but holds my eye contact. "Tweek, you do realize this is the most cliche shit ever, right?"

He punches my chest softly and I can't help the bubble of laughter that escapes my lips. "Don't be a d-dick, Tucker."

"We are on last name basis now?" I whistle, "I must be deep in the dog house." I grin at him through the darkness and see he is rolling his eyes, exasperated at me. "I don't hate you. I don't think I ever could."

"Who's being cliche now?" There's a smile in his voice.

I flip him off.

There's a few moments of silence before he shuffles closer to me and reaches out to find my hand. I let him take it; he's cold, and I bring my other hand up to warm his. "You're my best friend, Craig," he says.

"You too," I reply.

"I like you, a lot, but I'm still... It still hurts. And I'm not ready to let anyone else in."

"I'm not going to pressure you," I say tartly, "I know how much Thomas meant to you. I can't possibly imagine what's going on in your head. I'm sorry if I confused you, but I'm not going to apologize for my actions because that would be bullshit."

He nods, stroking his thumb over the tops of my hands. "I liked it when you kissed me," he says in a whisper, head tucking towards his chest to avoid my eyes.

"Too bad I can never do it again," I say, half teasing and half bitterly. He heaves a sigh and looks at me with weary eyes. His dark circles make his eyes look wide and owlish, and his lips are pursed into a thin line of annoyance.

In one fell swoop he grabs the back of my neck, pulling me forward and connecting his lips to mine. I melt. I can't help it. He pulls back, and I don't fight it but I stare at him with narrowed eyes. "I changed my mind," he says, as though he's come upon some sort of epiphany.

I stare at him and flatly say, "Oh have you now?"

"Yes," he says, "I think... I want to try to let you in. But we have to start slow. Kissing only for now. I m-mean, if you still l-like me."

I continue to stare with wide eyes. He's still holding my hand, gripping tightly as he waits for my answer. I lick my lips, my brain catching up to his words and processing them. "Of course I still like you, you asshole," I growl lowly and pull him into kiss him chastely on his chapped lips.

––—∞—––

Christophe woke us up before the crack of dawn. "Get up. Change of plans," he said, flipping on the lights and ripping the covers from us. Tweek, who had fallen asleep on my chest, groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. I sat up and glared at him with bleary vision.

"The fuck?"

"I want you to call your group and tell zem we are going to get zem. Everyone will be safer here; and it's easier zan moving all my weapons," he said pointedly, tossing me a discreet black cell phone.

"Who the fuck has flip phones anymore?" I asked sarcastically, flipping the thing open. The Mole narrowed tired eyes at me and grabbed the shovel strapped to his back and pointed it at me.

"I will end you, Tucker."

"You wish, french toast," I snapped back and he huffed his rebuttal and swept out of the room.

The first number I dialed was Bebe's number. It rang twice before I heard her voice, "Who is this?" She sounded exhausted and annoyed and pissed off.

"It's Craig," I said.

There was silence and then a happy scream, followed by a lot of static sounds and loud voices rising from her end, "I'm going to put you on speaker, okay?"

"Sure," I said rubbing my eyes. I cast a glance at Twee who was still asleep, snoring softly.

"Craig? You made it, dude?" Token's voice asked.

"Seems that way."

"Gimme the phone!" I heard Clyde whine before Red's voice came on loud and clear, asking what the plan was.

I regale them in the previous night's discussions and decisions. They all mumbled to each other when I told them we would be coming to bring them to the Moles. "But...this is our safe place," I heard Bebe say sadly. And it was true; we had put a lot of work into making that building safe and as much of a home as we could. I understood their apprehension.

"He has hot water," I said.

Silence.

"When are you coming?" Token asked seriously, and I could hear Bebe talking to Wendy in loud, high pitched shrieks.

"An hour. Grab what you can, and pack it into your Jeep. I'll call you when we arrive and we will head out ASAP. I don't want to give Cartman a chance to find out what we are doing," I said. Token hummed in agreement and said goodbye. Clyde screamed his love for me and I told him I loved him back even if he was an idiot.

––—∞—––

Cartman's crew blitzed us as we tried to exit the school, but their shots were horrible and we got a few good ones in ourselves before speeding away. There was no way they could catch us at this point and we all cheered, voices carrying through the air in celebration.

The Mole drove his own car, some old thing he loved, and smoked cigarettes and smiled often when Bebe or Kyle said something. For good measure he also ran over numerous undead by off roading, which made Tweek shriek.

We arrived quickly, parking our cars behind the house and carrying supplies into the house. Damien greeted us by waving lazily, and chewing on a burnt ass piece of toast. "Good to see none of you died," he remarked and we all flipped him off.

Kyle had to be carried in, his leg still damaged. The Mole took up that post, whispering words in the redheads ear as he carried him up the stairs to a room. Stan excused himself to go sit with him, and Wendy nodded before snuggling into the armchair with Bebe. Both girl held hands and laid their heads on one another.

"This place is beautiful," Bebe said.

"Thank you," Christophe said, coming back down the stairs. "My muzza had it built for me before she returned to France," he explained, "I added my own touches too." His eyes gleamed devilishly.

Butters, Kevin, and Clyde sat around the fireplace, talking amongst themselves and warming their hands. Token and Red were deep in conversation with Damien about how this was all possible, and why he was here to which the antichrist blushed and looked away. Tweek snuck up behind me and grabbed my wrist. I looked up at him and he smiled softly.

"C'mon," he said, nodding to the stairs. I surveyed everyone once more, looking warm and safe and truly happy for the first time in weeks.

I let him take me up the stairs into our own private domicile.

––—∞—––

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